The prequel to storm Sebastian was the winner for me so far in this fairly early stage of home winter swells.
The 20th of November or Big Wednesday as I can’t stop calling it because it was indeed both big and Wednesday. We were up before the gulls in the dark November Cornish rust and still having faith in the charts that had remained constant for once drove to collect Mr Shields for a St Aggie dawny. It did not disappoint. As soon as we parked up we grinned at the sound of the sonic booms on opening the car doors but when we saw the size and weight of these sediment packed beasts it was game on.
There was a small local crew out back that dealt very well with what was being offered up. Simon smashed some great looking dirty bombs and a couple of lengthy rights over the session before we called it a morning and returned to the shire.
Back home and mid morning I decided I had probably seen the best of everything coming in and I should just warm up. My phone was buzzing continuously so I checked it only to see messages from friends asking why I wasn’t where I normally am at Fistral as the local was pumping. So before the kettle had even clicked off I had dropped my images from the morning onto my pc and went for a look.
Wow!!! Finally something to make the heart race with excitement. And boy was it good.
Even after another 4 hours sitting in the freezing Cornish Mizzle, watching all those in warmer less exposed positions I remained steadfast because I knew the shot I wanted was achievable on a day such as this, a shot I had seen with my eyes but never been able to capture to prove it can really look/be this good. I should have gone to south I thought as I saw one board over there tombstoning for at least 10 seconds as some poor surfer was held down. I should have packed some kind of hot drink as my cold soaked fingers got slower and slower but then all I had to do was look at the arena of beatdowns and epic rewards in front of me to stop me feeling sorry for myself. I wasn’t giving up this ragged, slimy and soaked part of the coastline for anything. The Cribbar although seemingly tameable at a first untrained glance was not playing ball. The most of the few that attempted to paddle down its steepening widening face were quickly sucked straight back up on a skywards escalator.
It still made for amazing spectatorship though. There were boards breaking all over the place. I looked to South again and shot Sol Hawkins totally flying only to glance back and see his board flapping about with absolutely no sign of him and although I saw him pop up shortly after his session was cut short buy a clean snap to his deck.
Back on my side even though the Cribbar was not Cornish big wave perfection that day, the relentless power that had traveled for so many miles to our Cornish shore was in no way being held back. The most rewards seemed to be coming from the left of the Cribbar, the bank that sometimes builds to form a beauty if the currents have been favourable. It’s not the Cribbar’s tail or indeed the reform on the inside and it sure isn’t standard Little fistral. As one of Newquay’s finest called it a few days later it should just be named the “not the Cribbar” !!! This was where the best runs of the day were scored on the North side and compared to the chaos surrounding it the peak almost stuck out as an area of bigsurf solitude amongst the gigantic plumes of whitewater that were often surrounding it. I think to date six people have claimed it’s them taking that right on my Instagram post! Who ever it was they were just one of so many charging that day.
By looking across the chaos I got the shot I wanted and I think just I maybe managed to show South Fistral looking like somewhere a lot further away than Cornwall with a couple of guys sitting on the shoulder to give it a sense of scale.
Can we have round two please?
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